Adjusting
by EFAW
Summary: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. People go through the five stages of grief even when no one has died. Oneshot.


**Summary:** Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. People go through the five stages of grief even when no one has died. Oneshot.

**Warnings: **None, really. Set sometime in the future.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych. Or the Five Stages.

**I was browsing through NCIS fanfictions, and I saw a fic based on the five stages of grief. And that thought just kept rolling around in my head, and I finally thought to myself, 'Hey, the five stages don't have to be just for death, right?' And then I wondered how I could make it work with another fandom. Thus, this fic was born.**

**OOOO**

**Adjusting**

Gus wasn't surprised to get to the Psych offices and Shawn wasn't there. It was, after all, only eight in the morning; much too early for Shawn to be awake and coherant. Humming quietly to himself, pleased for a few hours of peace and quiet, Gus flipped the lights on, striding over to his desk. He set his briefcase down beside his chair, tugging his jacket off as he scanned the desk for any paperwork that needed to be done. Shawn wouldn't have done it.

A folded piece of bright yellow paper ---the color of pineapples--- caught his eye, and Gus frowned, picking it up. After reading it, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and read it again.

The words didn't change.

_Lease is up this month. Put my stuff in storage. Or sell it. I don't care._

_I'll call you when I get settled._

That was it. Two lines. But there was no doubt in Gus' mind who it was from.

Taking a shaky breath, Gus ran his hand over his head, dropping the note and watching it flutter onto the desk. He specifically didn't look at the other desk, determined not to see. He didn't want to see the empty spots where Shawn's prized possessions would be. He didn't need to see it. Shawn would be back. He always came back. Even if the last time he left he was gone for four years, he always came back.

Gus slowly sat down and booted his computer up with shaking hands. He'd have to figure out a way to pay for a renewal on the lease. Couldn't have Psych be sold when Shawn came back.

Later, when Juliet called about another case, Gus informed her that Shawn wasn't here right now.

"_Well, when will he be back? We need him on this one."_

"I-I don't know. But he'll be back soon." His voice trembled slightly, and Juliet paused.

"_I'll be right over."_

When she got there, she read the note, amd she studied him carefully. Gus smiled at her.

"Don't worry. He'll be back. He always comes back."

**XXXX**

Henry paced his kitchen, his roast forgotten on the counter. With every pass, he glared balefully at the picture of Shawn sitting on the kitchen table, at the newspaper articles he'd so carefully clipped out of the paper and collected in a shoebox.

"How could you do this, Shawn?" Henry muttered under his breath, shooting his dagger eyes at the unresponsive picture. He wanted to hit something. He just wanted to hit something until this anger burned away. Or until Shawn showed up and he could throw his anger in his stupid son's face.

Henry whirled around, hands clenched at his sides, and stormed past Shawn's picture. "You don't _do_ this to friends, Shawn. You _don't_. And you _certainly_ don't do it to family. What the hell where you thinking?"

Shawn had said this was something he could do. After years of countless jobs and useless endeavors, after months of not knowing where his son was or when he'd up and leave once again, Henry though Shawn had finally found something that would settle him. He was a damn good detective, and if he needed to pretend to be a psychic to pull it off, then that was fine. Just so long as he didn't give this up too.

"I lied for you! I covered for you! I was _proud_ of you, dammit! You were doing good!" Henry whirled around, stabbing his finger at his son's photo. "Why the hell did you give that all up? Huh? Why?"

His son just grinned cheekily back at him, the glossy photo not saying anything, and Henry growled, banging his fist down on the table. "Goddammit, Shawn!" He wanted to hit something. He wanted to shoot something. He wanted to _break_ something, break it until there was nothing left but dust.

Trembling, he stared at his son's face, stared at his son's glossy, exuberant smile. Just a few months ago. He'd been so happy just a few months ago. And now he'd just up and left. Thrown it all away.

Henry turned, stomping across the kitchen floor.

"_Dammit_, Shawn!"

**XXXX**

Karen stared at the files in front of her, blank-faced. She didn't know what to do. These were dead cases right now, no leads popping up. She needed Spencer to work his magic and find the clue that would lead them to the killer. He'd probably just need to look at the case file and that would be all he needed.

The chief's finger hovered over Speed Dial #3 for a moment before she pulled her hand away. She'd called him so much over these past few years that she'd put him in her speed dial, but only at number three, after her husband and the babysitter's number. She wondered if bumping him up a number or two on her speed dial would result in him answering. Maybe. She'd try it later. Surely a psychic would be able to tell that he'd gained some importance, no matter where he was.

Turning back to the files, Karen gathered them up. Three for now, but the pile would soon grow larger. These were cases for Spencer. When he came back, he would have no end of work. And she'd make sure to pay him extra too, maybe give him that raise he and Guster kept trying to ask her for. Shawn would like that. Definitely a raise, then. And maybe a bonus every…tenth case or something. Yeah.

She looked up just as McNabb passed, his hand wrapped around an extra-jumbo sized pineapple smoothie. The officer caught her eye and nodded politely, something a little bit off with his smile.

Buzz continued down the hall, exchanging his familiar greetings with everyone he passed, as usual, but his smile wasn't quite as bright as it normally was. At his desk, he slipped into his chair, carefully setting the pineapple smoothie on the edge, right in view of the front doors. As soon as Shawn came back, he would see it.

Buzz had even gotten the extra-jumbo size, just for Shawn. He never got that size, usually going for just the extra-large or jumbo size, but the bigger the better, right?

After a moment, Buzz popped the cap off, as though the smell of pineapple smoothie would lure Shawn our from wherever he was hiding.

Then he went back to work.

**XXXX**

Juliet knew she looked a mess. Her hair was falling out of her ponytail, and she had dark circles under her eyes, and she couldn't seem to muster up a smile anymore. Her clothes were still neat, but she seemed to have lost whatever flair she had when wearing them. It didn't quite seem to matter how she looked anymore.

Sighing, she turned to another case file, pulling out the required paperwork and starting on it. Her face was blank, her eyes dull, as she scanned the papers, and her hand was listless as she filled out the required form. With another sigh, she stood, taking the file with her as she dropped it in the done box.

Then, like a ghost, she glided back to her seat and picked up another file.

She avoided looking at the front door, expecting the doors to swing in and a certain psychic detective to come waltzing in, either spouting off another vision, or just coming in to chat or pick her up for lunch with him and Gus. She'd stopped expecting it a while ago, and it was just easier to not look at the door.

Who would have thought that Shawn would be such a bright fixture in everyday precinct life?

She sighed again.

Juliet knew she looked a mess. Her hair was falling out, and she had dark circles under her eyes, and she couldn't seem to smile anymore.

But she found it really didn't matter.

**XXXX**

Carlton hadn't really expected a call from the errant psychic, but he wasn't surprised; the things Shawn did had long ago ceased to surprise him.

"_Lassie-face!"_ Shawn's joyous greeting cut through the phone, and Carlton rolled his eyes, tugging off his tie. _"How's it going?"_

"Where are you, Spencer?"

"_Somewhere in Oklahoma. I think. I might have passed the state line already."_

Tossing his tie and his jacket over the back of the couch, the detective walked into the kitchen, peering through his cupboards for something to eat. Something other than soup or sandwiches. Or soup and sandwiches. Let's see… "Where are you headed?" the detective asked conversationally, pulling down a box of pasta. After studying it for a moment, he tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear and got down the saucepan.

Shawn's surprise was palpable. _"Uh…North Carolina, maybe. Or New Jersey. I'm still trying to decide." _There was a long pause, and Carlton filled the saucepan with water. He added just a sprinkle of salt and turned the stovetop on. _"You're not mad, Lassie-face?"_

"Nope."

"_Oh._ _"_ For once, Shawn was speechless, and Carlton smiled to himself. Finally, after all these years, he managed to strike the psychic dumb.

"_Are you sure?"_ Shawn asked after a minute, still sounding disbeliving. _"Cuz I called my dad and he sounded like he was going to blow a basket---"_ "Gasket." _"I've heard it both ways--- and Jules sounded like she was gonna cry and Gus…well, you don't wanna know about Gus. I sort of thought that you would…um…be pissed."_

"Not really." He _had_ been pissed. But then the world kept moving, and he realized that getting mad wasn't going to accomplish anything, so he stopped being mad. It was easier that way.

The water wasn't even close to boiling, so Carlton opened his fridge, wondering if he had any sauce to put on the pasta. He didn't really want to eat the noodles plain. Maybe just some butter and parmesean…

"Are you coming back?" Carlton asked, pulling out an old Tupperware of tomato sauce. He flipped the lid open, sniffing it, and made a face. No tomato sauce tonight.

"_I don't know. Maybe. Eventually."_

"Alright."

There was a pause, and Carlton thought he could hear the sound of a truck horn on the other end of the phone. Was Shawn at a truck stop or something?

"_Lassie, why aren't you mad? You're really accepting all of this and it's kinda freaking me out."_

Carlton shrugged, though Shawn couldn't see it. (Or maybe he could; but if he was really psychic, why would he leave? Surely he'd have known what his disappearance would do.) "You left. Nothing I can do about it. If you come back, you come back, and if you don't, there's still cases to be solved. Nothing's going to change that."

"_Oh."_ Shawn still sounded a little shell-shocked, and Carlton smirked to himself, pouring the noodles into the bubbling waters and turning down the heat.

There was another moment of silence, an almost comfortable moment that they'd never had before at the precinct, before Shawn said, _"I gotta go, Lassie. Talk to you later."_

"See you around, Spencer."

After a moment of hesitation, Shawn replied with, _"Yeah. See you."_

Removing the phone from his ear, Carlton flipped it shut, setting it on the counter next to the empty pasta box. Then he grabbed a wooden spoon, absently stirring the noodles.

Shawn was gone. There was nothing he could do about that.

Carlton sighed. No sauce tonight. Butter and parmesean it was.

There was nothing he could do about that either.

**OOOO**

**So, what did you think? Gus was always going to be the one in Denial. I was going to have Lassiter be the Angry one, but Henry just seemed to fit better for that, and Lassie wasn't really a Bargaining or Depression sort of person, so he became Acceptance. I figure, he's a pretty down-to-earth kinda guy anyway, so after he got pissed, he'd be the first to accept Shawn disappearing. Maybe. It worked in my head.**

**EDIT: I reccently found out that the five stages weren't just for grief, but they were actually the five stages of adjustment, hence the title. However, I figure most everybody would know them better as the five stages of grief. So there you go.**

**Anyway, review if you liked it please!**

**~Until next time!**


End file.
